Jungle Belles
No problom, mom!
It has come to my attention, Gentle Reader, that some of you are of the opinion your Kitchen Philosopher has been a bit preachy of late, and that perhaps you may welcome something with a lighter touch. Perhaps an account of one of my cruise adventures might provide a welcome respite from heavier matters if I somehow observed spiritual applications in my travels. I herewith obediently submit my account.
My traveling companion, Kathy, is my sister-in-law, married to Himself’s brother Bob.
Come with us now to Puerto Limon, Costa Rica. For reasons too dreary for this account, we arrived behind schedule and many shore excursions were cancelled. Himself and I planned, in this place, to go on an “eco-tour,” a canal boat ride through the jungle. We’d see mischievous monkeys, colorful exotic birds, and crocodiles.
Our tour, scheduled for 8:30 a.m., was cancelled. Bob and Kathy graciously insisted we take their place on a 2:30 p.m. tour, but we ladies sensed this could be a meaningful brother-bonding day, so our husbands went on the tour, and Kathy and I decided to go shopping.
As soon as we stepped out onto the rather dreary dock, we were accosted by a buzzing swarm of drivers, Spanish-speaking Jamaican fellows who pronounced the word “ship” as “chip,” and offered to take us on a tour of the area.
It was POURING DOWN RAIN. Remember this. Hard rain. Rain so hard the top of my head may have appeared bald to folk less kindly disposed than Gentle Reader.
Kathy and I haggled about price, hired “Ricky” for one hour and got in the back seat of his ancient Hyundai. He took us for a ride. All over. Talking all the time.
“Don’t worry, Leddy. I show you beautiful flowerrrs, beau-ti-ful trees. You want to see bananas? I show you bananas. I show you downtown. You like black people’s food? I take you where you eat wonderful black people’s food.”
Whenever I protested, declaring we intended to pay him for only one hour, he said, “Don’t worry, Leddy. No problomm mom. I get you back to chip on time. If we go ten minutes more, no problomm. Don’t worry. You like my countrrry? You like what I show you? Ooohh, that make Ricky sooooo heppy! Ricky is heppy when lovely Christian leddy like my country.” (How he knew I was Christian is unclear. I must just have a look.)
“I’m a Christian. Oooh, yess! I am servant of the Lorrd Jesuss Chrrist. I prrreach the Gosspil of the Lorrrd Jesuss Chrrist. I don’t drink rum. I don’t smoke tobacco. I don’t fornication.”
After about 40 minutes of driving all over and showing us exotic sights, like the office of the Red Cross and the soccer stadium, and answering our questions about “what kind of flower is that?” and he says “we call it the bright rrred flower tree,” or we ask “what is the little yellow bird, Ricky, there, up high in ba-na-na tree?” and he says “we call it a little yellow cheep cheep,” I’m growing nervous. I feel like all 40 minutes have been spent moving farther and farther away from “the chip.”
As he assures me it is no problem, not to worry, the flower plantation is just at the top of this hill (very steep, two thin tire lines—did I mention it is RAINING!!!?) we’re climbing ever more slowly. The Hyundai doesn’t seem to be making it up the hill. I suggest that Kathy and I get out to walk, and get back in the car at the top of the hill, and he says once more “no prroblomm” just as the driver’s side of the car slides into a ditch of which we had not previously been aware, due to the heavy vegetation growing up to the tire tracks.
It was the side I was sitting on, in the back seat. I blame myself, really.
His efforts to extricate the car from this ditch only drove it deeper. Just as the driver’s side of the car came to rest, almost on its side, the motor quit and wouldn’t restart.
Did I mention it is raining really hard and there is no sign of human habitation here? There’s a reason it is called a rain forest. At this moment we have no idea if any other tourists ever get out alive, or if anybody knows where we are.
Picture, if you must, Kathy and your Kitchen Philosopher (wearing a skirt, of course) climbing out of the high side of this car. Picture us hanging on to each other to keep from sliding down the slippery hill.
Ricky asks, “Are you afrrraid, Leddy?”
I said “No, Ricky, we’re just trying to keep from falling down.”
Kathy asked “What if we have to go to the bathroom?” It seemed prudent to wait as Ricky had just told us about the abundant poisonous snakes and bugs in the area.
Ricky is walking down the hill, to get help, we hope. Or, and this thought crossed my mind, his cousins Manuel and Jose who are at this moment bringing their big black cannibal kettle to a rolling boil.
We bemoaned the fact it wouldn’t even be in the church newsletter as “two missionary ladies missing and presumed eaten by Costa Rican cannibals.”
Do they have cannibals in Costa Rica? We should have done better research.
As you have already surmised, Ricky succeeded in finding a relative (an in-law, if my limited Spanish serves me) who jammed us into HIS Hyundai with a couple of fellow cruise passengers. We were back on board before our husbands returned.
Himself later told me, “It turned out all right, but if you ever do anything like that again, and I’m on the ship worrying about you getting back in time to sail because you are lost in the jungle, you’d better be dead.”
My eyes brimmed with tears, so touched was I by his concern.
And now, Gentle Reader, your patience is to be rewarded with the life applications you were promised:
Be sure your leader knows the way. Following someone who claims to be a Christian doesn’t guarantee you won’t be led farther and farther away from the ship. When the blind lead the blind, they both sink in the ditch. See John 8:12 and Matthew 15:14.
Fear not, for I am with you, says the Lord. It is no more difficult for God to keep His children safe in a Costa Rican rain forest than in a concrete jungle. See Isaiah 43:1-2.
Let the peace of Christ rule: The fact is, I did pray before we rode off with into the jungle with Ricky. Christ’s peace in my heart, an inner knowing that He said “go ahead” gave me the confidence to go ahead. See Colossians 3:15.
If you’re blessed to hear the music, Dance: Maybe it’s due to my age, but I see so many people who appear to be dead while they’re still walking around. I’d rather die in the midst of life than live as if I’m already dead. My next-door neighbor was aghast when I told her my Ricky story and then told her we went to a Mission and orphanage in Mexico. “You could have gotten sick! I wouldn’t do that for anything!” I did get very sick, to tell the truth, but I survived and I wouldn’t trade the joy of being in that amazing place for anything.
Living the abundant life involves risk. I don’t think it pleases God when we take foolhardy chances with our lives, but I believe it is better to die in the pursuit of something wonderful than to sit around waiting to die of boredom. If we’d stayed safe and dry on the ship we would have missed a wonderful adventure and laughter lasting until now. See Nehemiah 8:10 and Matthew 9:15
The Lord is with us! Rejoice!
Money’s Gone
Shoot me! Will somebody just kill me? Where’s street violence when you really need it?
Giving me a razor and telling me to shave was supposed to improve my self-esteem, I’ll bet. But they still kicked me out. Of the Rescue Mission! Who gets kicked out of the Rescue Mission? They shoulda thanked me instead. Stupid holy rollers really believed those bums got “saved.” I told them they were a bunch of liars. Just saying the words doesn’t get you saved. You have to believe in your heart. Even I know that much. They’re a bunch of stinkin’ liars, getting “saved” every week just so they can get a hot and a cot. They shoulda thanked me, I tell you! Instead they threw me out for being “disruptive.”
Sure, they gave me a sleeping bag and this goofy cap. Funny some old lady do-gooder didn’t knit “Loser” into the pattern of this cap. This sleeping bag doesn’t smell real fresh, either.
Liars. I know all about liars. “Love you, man,” they said as long as I could buy them their booze and smokes. Those girls, too. “Love you, sweetie,” they said, when I gave them jewelry and cars. What did they ever give me? Oh, yeah, that nasty little disease.
Dad warned me. Told me to be careful. But I figured, what did he know? Just working the farm since he was my age. Why should I wait until he died to have my inheritance? By that time I’d be as old as he is now and what would I need it for then? Dad sure doesn’t have much of a life, especially now with Mom gone.
Of course he has Daniel. The “perfect” son who stayed home. What a plugger. He’s probably married to some dumb female now and has a litter of kids. Little rug rats that crawl up on your lap and get you all sticky with candy and stuff. Funny how little kids can get so dirty and still smell like sunshine…
Daniel never could play chess, though—just didn’t have the hang of it like I do. Wonder who Dad plays with since I left?
I wonder if that rack in the haymow is still there? It sure would be better than sitting here on this cold cement. Maybe if I mucked out after the milking Dad would let me bunk out there. There’s always a cat or two to keep the mice down. I remember how Lester, the old tabby cat would sleep on my chest, his big warm body rumbling as he purred…
Oh-oh. Here come the cops. Making a street sweep in the middle of the day. Must be a slow day in the crime biz. Well, at least I’ll have a dry jail cell to sleep in tonight. Wait. I recognize that voice…
“That’s all right, Officer. I’ve got it. I’ll take care of him.”
“Come on, son. Time to go home.”
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 7
Chapter 7—Friday Morning, Dallas
“C’mon over here, Sugar,” Alex called from the shampoo sink. “Leave all your bits and pieces at my station and we’ll begin. See? I already have the Synerfusion ready. That perm works so well on your gorgeous hair.”
She complied, placing her big black purse, umbrella and the smoothie on the spot he had indicated, walked over to the sink and sat down. Leaning back, she rested her neck on the thick towel Alex provided, and began to relax as he pulled the pins out of her hairdo and ran his fingers through her long, thick hair. She sighed happily as he began running warm water over her head.
“How have you been this week, Darlin’? Have you been to the big linens sale at J.C. Penney?” He went on without waiting for an answer. “I haven’t had a chance yet though Lord knows I need new bed linens. It’s just that, with a king-sized bed, each sheet simply costs too dear. I can’t bear to sleep on anything less than 400-count pure cotton, but now they are on sale for only $45 each, isn’t that marvelous? I saw identical linens for $149 at Niemanns just last week.”
“Yes, Alex, it is truly marvelous the way the Lord does know what you need. He knows all of your needs, and your greatest need is spiritual. I’m not saying that’s true for only you, dear. For all of us, our spiritual needs are greatest.”
Alex cursed himself inwardly for even a casual mention of “the Lord.” He might have known she’d jump on any chance to preach.
“Oh, honey, I know that,” he chortled, “that’s why He sent you in here for a perm today. He knew I’d need the extra money.” She was a great tipper, he remembered.
“I didn’t see Tina when I came in. She still works here, doesn’t she?”
“Why, how sweet of you to ask about her!” he enthused, patting her on the shoulder to emphasize the word ‘sweet’. “You know she lives in our apartment complex now, don’t you? Well, I saw her as I left to come here today, walking her dear little doggie as she does every morning. I’m sure she’ll be in soon. She probably didn’t have a nine o’clock.”
She didn’t hear her cell phone when it rang. Alex had set the timer and put her under the dryer to process her perm. It took three rings before he figured out that the sound emanated from his station where she’d stashed her purse. He brought it to her and made the phone call signal with his thumb and pinkie. He lifted the dryer hood to minimize interference, and frankly eavesdropped on her side of the conversation.
“What’s the matter? Why are you calling here?”
“What do you mean, missing? Missing from where?”
“Lost Austin?! How could they lose Austin?”
“Have you called the police?”
“I’m not screaming!”
“Never mind my tone of voice, Will! Tell me what’s going on!”
As her voice increased in volume with each remark, all stylists and customers in the salon stopped whatever they were doing, probably so they wouldn’t miss anything about a juicy story that had the makings of becoming more exciting with every telling.
“I can’t leave right now, I’m in the middle of processing. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Processing. I’m having a perm.”
“You’re handling it? You’re handling it? What are you doing to handle it?”
“Where are the girls? Is anyone watching the babies?”
Alex clamped his hands to his cheeks helplessly, listening with an open mouth. Gloria’s voice had launched itself into whole new octaves.
“I am not hysterical! Stop telling me how to feel!”
She pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it, and fainted, slumping gracelessly in her chair and sliding to the floor in slow motion, oblivious to her nosy audience. After a few seconds they all regained their voices at the same time and rushed over to her.
Alex fluttered his hands ineffectually while moving first to one side of the dryer chair and then the other, making little mewling noises, beseeching Gloria to talk to him.
“Is she dead?” he cried out to Tina as she walked into the salon just in time to hear eight stylists yelling questions and instructions at each other while ignoring the woman who lay in a heap on the floor.
“Back off,” she barked. She knelt down, gently straightened Gloria’s legs, and considerately pulled the unconscious woman’s long skirt over her knees.
She grabbed a couple of clean towels to put under Gloria’s perm-rod-covered head, and began fanning her with a magazine from a rack beside the dryer chair, all the while laying one hand on her shoulder and talking softly, almost crooning.
Alex heard a word or two now and then. He guessed she might be praying and felt relief in spite of himself. He caught himself wishing he remembered how to pray.
Everybody jumped when the timer went off, and it apparently brought Gloria back to full consciousness, too. She began sobbing.
“My grandson. My beautiful grandbaby boy. He’s gone. I can’t do this again.”
For a few rare seconds, the salon was silent, but quickly erupted again in a general buzz of disbelief.
Alex stepped forward and offered his hand to help her up, his affected speech abandoned.
“Listen, Sugar, we have to finish this perm and send you home. C’mon now, you can do it. I’ll work ever so fast and we’ll have you looking fabulous in no time.”
One arm over her shoulders, he led her back to the shampoo sink so he could pour on neutralizer and finish the perm. As she sat down he patted her arm awkwardly.
Questions came at her from every side. All she did was weep, murmur thank-yous and grab the tissues offered with each question.
Alex, confused and incredulous himself, shooed away the noisy gallery with “I’m sure you all mean well, dears, but Gloria is my customer and I must insist you afford her some privacy in her hour of need,” and applied himself to finishing her perm as fast as he could. Poor woman! As tiresome as he usually found her, he hated for anyone to be so terribly upset.
“Will your handsome hubby be coming here to pick you up, Sugar? I don’t want you to be driving out there in the condition you’re in.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Her shoulders shook with sobbing.
“Tina, honey, can’t you do something?” He stared at his hands as he realized he’d been rubbing his head with both of them. He rinsed them off before continuing to remove perm rods while Tina talked to her.
“What about Will, Gloria? Shall I call him and tell him to come for you?”
Tina’s questions were answered with furious head shaking, greatly distressing Alex, and renewed sobbing.
One by one the stylists returned to their stations, and Gloria gradually calmed down but she still couldn’t speak, or wouldn’t, nor did she raise her eyes to look at anyone.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Tina paused for a moment, but she couldn’t see any way to help Gloria at the moment, and her own client waited at her station, hair parted off and ready for color application.
Tina’s shiny, new-copper-penny-colored tresses inspired her less gloriously crowned clients to beg her to transform their mousy-drab locks, hoping that by copying her hair color they could somehow become as stunning and winsome as Tina.
She tried.
She had developed a number of tints and toners, depending on the shade the client presented, and frequently the reflection in the mirror pleased the subject. Just as frequently, she would receive a phone call a week or two later complaining that after shampooing it just wasn’t the same.
That was a mystery to Tina until she carefully observed one woman after another, as she styled their hair after coloring, and found that a woman’s eyes invariably met her own in the mirror, rather than looking at her own face and hair. Evidently her clients somehow expected to look like Tina when they returned to their real lives.
This morning she wasn’t concerned about that. Of course she tended with great care the intricacies of mixing colors and toners, but her mind never strayed far from her friend Gloria, so very grieved, in Alex’s station.
Alex cast quick glances at Tina, his eyes begging for understanding, but Tina felt as befuddled as he seemed.
Missing? Gloria’s grandson, missing? She searched her brain, and as nearly as she could remember, Gloria only had one grandson, a little boy. A very young boy, if her memory served. How awful. No wonder Gloria was beside herself. Who wouldn’t be?
Perhaps Jake would have some ideas about how to find the boy. She made a mental note to ask him about it when she saw him tomorrow.
On the other hand, that question might be too painful for him. He had told her all about his son, Joey, of course, and the terrible thing Jake had been accused of doing to him. She remembered saying something like that to him—“the terrible thing you were accused of,” and of Jake becoming very upset.
“The terrible thing I was accused of wasn’t nearly as terrible as what was really happening to him—maybe still is,” he’d said. Because of the pain in his voice, she had thought it was time to change the subject, so she began chattering about something else.
He’d touched her cheek so tenderly then. “I’m all right, Kitten. Don’t be afraid to talk to me about Joey, or Annie, either. I can’t help thinking about them all the time, but being with you helps me feel better.”
That same evening, while they sat outside on a bench, waiting for an available table at Macaroni Grill, a young family with three little boys—stair-stepped in height—waited with them. When they became impatient and whiny, Jake had dashed into the restaurant and emerged a minute later with paper cups. He then sat on the concrete in front of the family, and engaged the boys in a sleight-of-hand game, hiding a quarter under one of three cups. He slid the cups around as fast as the pavement allowed, and asked them to tell him which cup hid the quarter. The boys’ wide-eyed amazement gave way to giggles when Jake occasionally “found” the quarter behind one of the boys’ ears.
“Are you a Dad?” one of them asked.
“Naww, he’s an uncle, I bet. Dad’s don’t do stuff like that; uncles do,” his brother countered.
At that moment their buzzer had gone off, indicating their table was ready. Jake rubbed the nearest kid’s head and started to walk away, but the other two insisted on having their heads rubbed, too. “Bye, Uncle!”
“I know you’re a great Dad,” Tina had whispered.
She remembered that he’d held her hand more tightly than he ever had before.
“I could be,” he’d said.
~~~~~~
Alex worked feverishly, but it was nearly an hour later by the time Gloria’s heavy hair was dry and coifed stylishly in her customary French twist. In all that time she never said a word. He oohed and ahhed, the way he always did, about how beautifully streaks of her graying blonde hair, almost white, folded into the twist and made the soft curls surrounding her face “positively glow.” But she didn’t respond as she usually did with proclamations of his styling proficiency.
Wordlessly she paid her bill, gave him a handsome tip, and left.
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 6
Chapter 6—Friday Morning, Dallas
Gloria Stoner maneuvered her silver Volvo into the alley, made a mental note to remind Will about selling some of his o-gauge train collection before it took over her side of the garage, and drove east toward Collin Creek.
On the way to the salon she needed to drop off dry cleaning, buy books at the half-priced bookstore and then pick up a strawberry-banana-yogurt smoothie to sip while Alex rolled her perm.
Alex. A real piece of work. He probably has unresolved issues with his mother, she mused, vaguely grumpy about the slight tension she felt in his presence. Gloria guessed Alex’s mother might carry a few extra pounds, too. “You think I don’t know how you feel about me, but I do,” she imagined herself saying to him. “You always talk about being tolerant. Well, that should mean that you can tolerate me as well as I tolerate you.”
“What a great witness that would be!” She scolded herself aloud.
More than tolerating him, she’d actually grown rather fond of him, and not simply because he styled her hair better than any stylist she’d ever had. She wondered how her mother had managed her elaborate coif—a 1940’s version of the French twist Gloria now wore.
Her mother, Alicia, had been 81 when she died last year, mentally sharp until the stroke a few months before her death.
Gloria remembered, with shame, that she had been barely aware of her mother’s existence during those earlier years when she and Will were raising their children. For months after the funeral she’d frantically tried to recall the last time she and her mother went shopping together, or lunched together. But she couldn’t remember. If only she hadn’t been so busy. No, it wasn’t about being busy. Not during these last years, with no children at home anymore. It was about seeing her mother as a person, someone with something unique to say.
Her mother had a great sense of humor; she knew she would never forget that. Gloria wished she had inherited her mother’s sunny disposition instead of her father’s propensity for depression. She would give anything right now to go out for lunch with her. She’d ask her about her friends and hobbies, and her mom would make amusing stories of every encounter.
No, no, no!
She suddenly realized she was doing it again, thinking of ordinary conversation, talking about mundane matters, avoiding genuine, heart-to-heart communion. What she really wanted to hear was her mother’s heart. Had the young Alicia had dreams? How had it turned out for her? Did she ever find, as Gloria had, that faith in God carried one through broken dreams and times of sorrow?
When Laura is with me these next days, I hope she and I will be able to chat about these things. I hope we can share our hearts with one another. She shook her head and smiled at her fanciful thinking. As if, with children underfoot, they’d ever have a chance to go from one end of a sentence to the other!
Nearing her first stop, her thoughts went back to Alex. He thought she hated him, she knew that. Well, she didn’t actually know that, but he often used the word “haters” when referring to Christians. It grieved her to realize he couldn’t comprehend the baseline truth that, as a follower of Christ, she couldn’t afford to hate anybody. She couldn’t pretend she approved of his lifestyle of course, but it wasn’t disapproval so much as knowing he’d been created for a richer, fuller life.
Ahmed, a handsome young Pakistani, began writing her ticket before she stepped out of the car, and when she dropped her armload of dry cleaning and laundry on the counter he had only to count Will’s shirts and hand her the claim check. When she asked about Shoab, their new baby boy, his eyes sparkled as he told her that the baby slept four hours without waking the night before. Ahmed had the prettiest eyes and the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on anybody, male or female.
As she drove away she smiled to herself. By this time tomorrow she’d have her own babies with her. She missed them so. Where were they now? Laura said they would drive straight through—David didn’t mind driving all night. That way the kids could sleep at least half of the eleven hundred miles from Green Bay to Dallas.
Perfect Image Salon and Day Spa in Collin Creek buzzed with activity this Friday morning, its mirrored walls gleaming, reflecting neon tubes encircling center pillars. Gloria looked around as she walked in, disappointed when she couldn’t spot Tina. Gloria enjoyed the way Tina teased Alex, managing to slip in a comment about the Lord whenever she could.
“You and I, Tina,” she once told her, “will reach this arrogant young man, you mark my words. Alex needs to have the Lord in his life whether he knows it or not.”
Tina had winked at her behind Alex’s back.
When Gloria had her hair done last week she remembered thinking Tina looked happy and relaxed. Must have a new man in her life. She hoped he was a believer. Happily married herself, she was convinced that matrimony was the preferred lifestyle, and an entitlement for anyone as beautiful inside and out as Tina.
The Fragile Cup
The waif, luminous, offers a fragile bowl,
“Would you care to cry?”
My tears fill the cup.
She returns it, “Tea?”
Sipping, I find cleansing.
Weeping endures,
but joy sings harmony
and I hear songs in the night,
Secure and peaceful,
my beloved asleep beside me,
and My Beloved, who never slumbers,
keeps watch.
Venetian windows filter moonlight
bathing my home in cool peace
A wafer bids rest’s embrace
and I yield.
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 5
Chapter 5—Friday Morning, Dallas
Alex James patted his hip and preened before the full-length foyer mirror of his luxury apartment. Not bad for 41: face unlined. Flat belly. Dark brown hair receding gracefully.
He strapped on his sable leather fanny pack and checked its contents: three pairs of gold shears and five razors, four combs, all cleaned, sharpened and sanitized for his clients. Before sliding his appointment book into his back pocket, he glanced at the day’s schedule and frowned.
Friday: Gloria Stoner at 10:00. Perm and trim. That should take him up through lunch.
Tina once told him Gloria was only about thirty pounds overweight. Only thirty pounds? He’d be an absolute blimp with thirty extra pounds, and he had too much self-respect to let that happen.
Backing his black Trooper out of the garage he saw Tina walking Schotzie, a perky Miniature Schnauzer who strutted like a tiny bearded pony. Alex supposed half the Schnauzers in the world bore the affectionate German name, Schotzie. How trite.
Tina must not have scheduled any early morning appointments, he guessed.
Traffic on 75 Central expressway proceeded at a sluggish crawl, as usual. He congratulated himself again for moving to a salon at Collin Creek, thus avoiding having to spend his first morning hours dodging the morning madness. If anybody ever wondered where “road rage” originated he’d nominate this engineering nightmare. An obvious choice for commuters, it aimed at a diagonal for downtown Dallas. Already more vehicle traffic swarmed over it every day than the planners designed it to carry in a week, and they had only recently finished the huge so-called improvement project.
He hit his brakes as taillights flashed red up ahead, stopping behind a Lexus driven by a 30-something brunette stretching toward the rearview mirror while applying lipstick. As he waited for traffic to move again he mused about Tina.
She had been late to work a few times in recent weeks—a whole day late returning from a “short trip to visit relatives”—and he sometimes caught her staring dreamy-eyed at nothing in particular. If he didn’t know better he’d suspect a new romance, but she told him everything, he was sure of it, and she’d never mentioned a new man in her life.
He had introduced her to his brother a few months ago, but then never heard any more about it from either of them. He thought they’d make a good pair—both recovering from painful divorces, but then his brother made no bones about being a rank heathen and Tina probably couldn’t handle that.
Tina truly was a good person, of that he had no doubt. Despite being one of those “born-agains,” she had an open and tolerant way of dealing with people. After her divorce from that wretched Richard Hilbert, she moved into building six at Fulton Towers, across the courtyard from his apartment.
Last week he told her that he thought she spent too much time reading murder mysteries, especially since her habit seemed to have led to Tina and Gloria Stoner, of all people, developing a friendship of sorts. Whenever the two women happened to be in the salon at the same time they chatted endlessly about the books they enjoyed. “A good puzzle,” he’d overheard Gloria tell Tina. She didn’t want to be frightened, she’d said, she simply loved a good puzzle.
Besides the addiction to murder mysteries, Gloria and Tina had that born-again foolishness in common. They stopped talking whenever he walked near them and that made him uneasy. He certainly couldn’t see anything in Gloria even vaguely interesting to anybody, never mind a drop-dead gorgeous little firecracker like Tina, but he didn’t want to lose her as a client, either.
Truth is, Gloria nettled him on several levels. Beginning with her first appointment, she openly expressed her disapproval of people who lived what she called “an alternative lifestyle,” obviously implying, because he had never married, that she thought he was one such person. Her assessment was correct, but he had no intention of discussing it with her. Let her think what she wants to, he thought. In fact, he deliberately fluttered around her in the manner she likely would expect of a male hair stylist, just because he knew it confirmed her prejudices.
She never missed a chance to talk about “the Lord,” or to say she was praying for him. But she didn’t quite fit the pattern of the Christian right-wing nut.
They—right-wing screwballs—all hated him, of that he was sure.
A tiny memory cloud wafted its guilty path across his mind. “Right-wing screwballs” might be a little harsh, he supposed. True, his mother had used her Bible as a cudgel on him, but she didn’t hate him, and calling her a screwball dishonored her memory. He had no wish to do that.
It didn’t add up. Gloria seemed to truly enjoy his company. When she came in she always said, “Dish the dirt, Alex. What’s happening around here?” He could usually come up with an anecdote or two, and the more he camped it up, the harder she laughed and the more she egged him on.
He didn’t understand her.
“Of course you don’t understand her, genius,” he told himself as the traffic inched forward, “she’s a pain in the neck; just leave it at that.”
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 4
Chapter 4—Friday, Arkansas Ozarks
For what seemed like ages but was in fact only three hours, the truck climbed through trees displaying tiny new pale green leaves, around sharp curves, across narrow bridges spanning streams bubbling out of the rocks with spring-thaw fullness.
Cheerful surroundings failed to elevate Jake’s mood. Austin, tired and pale, stared out of the side window, occasionally asking Jake if they might be driving in circles. Indeed, Jake thought, since daylight first peeked tentatively through the rising mist, the roadside scenery he’d been watching zip past his window, down to the trees and rocks, appeared much the same.
“Are we going up or down?” Austin asked, his voice a dry squeak.
“Both. Mostly up, but sometimes we go down a little. Eventually, when we find the place I’m looking for, we’ll be clear on the other side of this mountain.”
He mentally patted himself on the back for having left the trailer behind. On a tight S curve he could imagine the trailer and tractor heading off in opposite directions. The slightest miscalculation on one of these switchbacks would send them crashing through the sturdiest guardrail to the bottom of the valley. Here there wasn’t even a shoulder, never mind a guardrail.
Turkey vultures wheeled and turned overhead in haphazard circles, lending a surreal touch. As much as morbid curiosity tempted him, he didn’t dare peer down into the hollows to look for truck carcasses as evidence of some poor fools who had allowed their eyes to wander from the road.
“Are we really in the mountains?” Austin was wide-eyed now.
“Sorta. Ozarks are like small mountains.” It didn’t seem like the right time to explain the difference between mountains like the Smokies and valleys dug deep into elevated planes the way the Ozarks were formed.
Although Jake had tried various approaches to persuading Austin to tell him where he lived, he had been unsuccessful. Evidently still offended by what he perceived as Jake’s outburst when he emerged from the back of the cab, he couldn’t be talked into parting with much useful information.
At first he figured he’d scared the kid, but soon realized that this boy didn’t scare easily. He obviously watched too much TV. It seemed Austin didn’t distinguish between fantasy and reality. He probably saw himself as some cartoon super-hero. Jake decided to try again.
“So, kid, do you have mountains where you live?”
“Of course not!”
“Well, don’t have a bird. I don’t know anything about where you live. You might have mountains; you might have a desert…how am I supposed to know? So do you? Live in the desert, I mean?”
Austin looked at him with disgust. “I know what you’re doing. I’m not telling you where I live. I already told you my name, and that’s all I’m telling. I’m Austin David Page. I’m a biotechnicoid boy, and I can live anywhere I want to. Right now I live in your truck. And I’m hungry!”
“Like thunder you live in my truck! You’re a stowaway, and you’re going back to your family as soon as we figure out how to accomplish that little trick without me landing in jail. We’re almost there and you can wait to eat until then. Now, if you won’t tell me where you live, at least tell me where you and your family were headed.”
Austin pressed his lips tightly closed and made the motions of locking them. He pressed the electronic button, opened his window a crack and pretended to throw his make-believe key out of the window.
“Are you sure you crawled out of your car? I can’t help wondering if your family might have dumped you out and drove away. As aggravating as you are, they probably don’t even want you back.”
Jake didn’t want to scare him, not that he was too worried about that unlikely possibility, and didn’t really want to make him feel bad, but he thought a little reverse psychology might coax some information out of him. The direct approach sure hadn’t worked.
Austin glared at him, blinking back tears welling up, his eyes becoming red-rimmed. Still he didn’t speak, and went back to staring out the window with his lips clamped shut.
“All right. There it is.”
Jake heaved a sigh of relief. He never would have tried it if he hadn’t trusted his memory and innate sense of direction for places he had visited. Even at that, there were times in the last thirty minutes when he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he was on the right road. He had only been here other time. He had gone through several bad moments when he tried to find a half-remembered landmark, and it wasn’t exactly as he remembered it. The roads here all looked pretty much the same. Because of the sharpness and frequency of the curves, and the trees bordering the road, he couldn’t see more than a few yards ahead. The truck compass, of course, was useless.
Now though, he was sure. Here was the one-lane bridge he had been looking for, and an unpaved road to the right. The bridge spanned a narrow wash, usually dry except for now, in the spring. Yes! There was the troll painting on the middle post. “A droll troll,” she had called it.
He shook his head as if to shake loose parts into place. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbled to himself. “Now I know I’m crazy for sure.”
As he crossed the bridge, made a sharp turn and proceeded along tire tracks through weeds that constituted the road, Jake thanked the powers that be that he hadn’t seen even one other vehicle for the last two hours.
He shifted down again; the truck growling its way up a short, steep grade into dense woods thickly leafed out in lush new foliage. The branches alongside squealed as they scratched the sides of the cab. Jake grimaced. He wouldn’t be able to keep a custom paint job on it if he were locked up, either, he supposed. Guessed that was some consolation.
He instinctively ducked his head as low branches scraped the top of the truck.
The thick foliage so effectively shut out the sun that the indicator on the instrument panel flashed ‘Headlamps Suggested.’
“Okay kid. Hang on now.”
They had reached a small clearing, and on the other side of it, a rocky, hardpan path up to the peak and another thick stand of oaks.
Austin’s eyes opened even wider. At last he broke his self-imposed silence.
“Yikes! Can this truck go straight up like that? Aren’t we going to tip over backwards?” He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
Jake pulled his sunglasses down his nose a bit and looked over them at Austin. He smiled. Cute little dickens.
“So, hotshot! The biotechnicoid boy can’t handle steep inclines? Watch this, Austin David Page. Big Blue is going to climb that thing like a monkey shinnies up a tree.”
He pushed his sunglasses back in place with his forefinger and shifted down once more for a steep, bumpy ride, slow and steady. About a mile along, the path grew narrower and the outside tires sent loose rocks tumbling down into the valley. No road markers warned about the degree of incline, but it seemed as steep as anything he had ever run into—nothing a sane person would try without a four-wheel drive. Oh, well. Since sane wasn’t a word anybody had applied to him lately…
For another half mile the main path continued upward to the peak, but Jake found a narrow alley, again through a dense stand of trees, turned left, beginning a short descent, bringing the truck to rest at last alongside a long, low barn-like structure, under a canopy of mature oaks.
Jake took a deep breath and turned off the engine.
He sat back, took off his cap, and exhaled for what seemed like the first time in twelve hours. He turned to see how Austin had fared the ride, and noticed he had already managed to release his seat belt and was on his knees on the floor of the sleeper unit. Was the boy praying, Jake wondered, then noticed he had opened the little refrigerator and was foraging around inside.
“You that hungry? Hang on for another few minutes. We’ll see if we can find you something decent to eat.”
Austin climbed back onto the seat, wiggling while he prattled.
“Yikes, Mister, I sure never was up so high under trees before, and that last road, you must have a biotechnicoid truck, Mister!”
Austin slid off the seat again and stood as close to the windshield as he could.
They both looked around, taking in the weathered wood barn they were next to, peering through the leafy canopy over them at a cabin and three smaller buildings. The cabin looked like something in a storybook, its logs dark and gleaming and separated by chalk-white chinking.
A reluctant nod to modern technology, a satellite dish raised its concave face to receive incoming sine waves.
As their eyes adjusted to the deep shadows, the weary travelers watched a tall, elderly couple emerge from the front door and stride toward the stairs leading off their porch. Jake stepped down from the truck and Austin followed him, grabbing Jake’s belt as soon as he hit the ground, and pulled himself behind his new hero.
Jake cranked his neck around, partly to loosen muscles taut from hours of tension, partly to look for a cell tower. He didn’t see any. He checked his cell phone. “No Service.” He shut it off and slid it onto the dashboard pocket.
“Well, here goes. In a minute I’ll know if I’ve screwed everything up beyond fixing—again—or if there’s a way out of it. No way that old man is going to beat around the bush. The old lady, either. They haven’t shot at us yet. I take that for a good sign.”
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 3
Chapter 3—Friday Morning, Dallas
Tina reached out to shut off the alarm without opening her eyes, and rolled over on her back, glowing with rosy well being and joyful anticipation. Today was Friday. Tomorrow she’d see him.
Stretching her arms above her head and inhaling deeply, she willed herself to remember his aftershave. Mmmmmmm. Obsession. Good name. Intoxicating. Or maybe Jake didn’t need help being intoxicating. She melted—giddy—when he held her in his arms, looking into her eyes as if he wanted to see into her very soul. He sometimes called her “kitten” because he said her eyes were as green as a cat’s.
He might even call tonight.
So far she had been able to resist his gentle attempts at physical intimacy, despite her own yearnings. It wasn’t easy. When she let her guard down, like now, before she was fully awake, she played over and over again in her mind the way he talked to her, soft and low, his lips barely brushing hers, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he liked kissing her.
Tomorrow, when he holds me close against his chest, I’ll bury my face in his neck and breathe him in. I’ll forget all the nights I’ve tossed and turned, longing for him.
“Stop it!” she told herself, sitting up straight.
Schotzie jumped when she spoke, but not in time to avoid being hit by Tina’s legs as she swung them out of bed and, without looking, into her green satin scuffs. Years of nothing moving unless she moved it, she thought, suddenly weary of her well-ordered life. It would be nice to have somebody else with her in this apartment for a change, somebody who might bump her slippers out of the exact place she left them. Even Schotzie left them untouched.
“You are a poor excuse for a dog, Schotzie. What kind of a dog doesn’t drag his mistress’ slippers around the house?”
Schotzie, a trim Miniature Schnauzer, raised one eyebrow in a what’s-your-problem gesture, put his ears and tail down and backed away from her, obviously offended at being scolded so early in the morning.
“Awww, don’t pout. You’re good company, Schotz, and I do like a warm body around the place, but one of these days…”
One of these days, what? One of these days I’ll let Jake stay over? I don’t think so. One of these days, I hope, I’ll grow up. I’ll know better than to lie in bed thinking about him until I’m all in the mood. I need to go outside and walk this off.
She dropped the ribbon straps off her shoulders and her gown slipped down into an emerald-green satin puddle on the floor. She pulled on gray sweats and slid a wide headband over her straight, shoulder length red hair. After brushing her teeth she usually dropped to the floor for a few slow stretches before putting on socks and running shoes, but today she skipped her little warm-up routine.
Schotzie sighed resignedly and did a few lazy stretches of his own before Tina attached his leash and walked out the door with him.
She started off at a quick pace, risking leg cramps. By the time she had covered a third of her usual distance, her breath came in short gasps and sweat soaked her headband.
Walking around the apartment complex helped her wake up and pumped up her energy level before the day’s work. At this hour, her neighbors were in a hurry to go to work and paid no attention to her. She felt free to pray aloud.
First she sorted out her thoughts.
“I blew it again. I can’t start that whole physical thing all over again; that’s how trouble started last time. Richard was a hunk, no doubt about it, and I fell hard. But after the wedding I found out that’s all he was. It was such a hot romance that I never even noticed he that lied about everything, often when it would have been easier to tell the truth. When I think of all the times he worked late…”
If she ever married again, she determined, it would be different. Not that she discounted the value of the bedroom, but she remembered her grandparents sitting and talking at the kitchen table, her grandmother waxing enthusiastic about one thing or scolding about something else, her grandfather laughing and enjoying her spirit, both obviously fascinated with the other. They had a real romance! Tina wanted a marriage like theirs. She had no intention of going into another relationship if she couldn’t be sure that it had its roots in mutual love and respect, the kind of marriage that would carry them loving and laughing into a ripe old age.
Alex waved as he drove off. She’d see him at work later. Her first appointment wasn’t until 10:45, and she had time for a long prayer walk. Good thing, too.
“What’s the matter with me, Lord? I know what happens when I lie there, thinking of Jake, stirring up all those feelings. That’s what will be on my mind when I see him. Talk about setting myself up for a fall.”
She went through her usual concerns, praying for everything she could think of: safe travel for Jake, Jake’s salvation, Alex’s salvation, her grandparents’ health, her own work and safety. She asked God to put a watch over her mouth to keep her from inadvertently saying something to Jake that might put him off the whole idea of becoming a Christian.
That’s when she cried.
“I’m so lonely, Father, I don’t know what to do. I know You love me, but how can I ever trust myself to a man again? How can I believe a man means it when he says he loves me? Am I going to be alone for the rest of my life? And Jake! He’ll never trust another woman. Why would he? And even though he wants me, he never mentions marriage. He’s not a Christian and I couldn’t marry him anyway…oh, what’s the use?”
Sobbing, she could barely see where she was going and narrowly missed being hit by a car backing out of a driveway. The driver honked and rolled down his window.
“Are you going to be all right? Can I do something to help? Call somebody?”
“No, it’s just a bad morning,” she managed to say, “I’ll be okay in a minute.”
The driver waved and drove away, and before he raised the window, she heard a snatch of a song on his car radio, “He knows all about it…”
A wave of peace, like a cool breeze, washed over her. God does know all about it, she thought, and He loves me even when I make dumb mistakes.
All at once she again felt the way she had that night, only about a year ago, when Jesus first made Himself known to her. Now it was if she and Jesus had their own wonderful secret, and she could believe she was completely accepted and loved.
So relieved she felt like laughing, she couldn’t wait to go home to read her Psalms for the day.
The phone rang as Tina and her dog walked in the door. It was Angie, inviting her to bring Jake to their apartment for dinner some evening while he was in town. Tina told her it sounded like fun, then bit her lip for lying.
“So, girlfriend, is tomorrow night the night?” Angie asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do; for Mr. Right to spend the night.”
“No, it’s not, and I don’t know if he’s Mr. Right.”
“Then, isn’t it time to find out? What are you going to do—wait till you’re married to find out there’s no chemistry?”
“There’s plenty of chemistry, but…”
“Admit it; you’ve thought about it!”
“Of course I have. Why are we having this conversation—again? I’m a Christian now, things are supposed to be different!”
“Yeah, yeah, but God knows we’re only human, and He forgives us for it.”
“Oh, Angie, let’s change the subject. Better yet, I’ll talk to you later—I have to go now.”
“Okay, hon. Just remember what Angie says—try before you buy!” Click.
Tina hung up the phone, cranky that her good feelings had evaporated.
She fed the dog before stripping off her sweats and sneakers and turning on the shower. She stood in the shower a long time, inviting the hot water to clear her head. As she rinsed out the shampoo, she thought about the phone call.
She and Angie, also divorced, met at church. Tina had attended that evening at the invitation of one of her clients. Angie had gone to church all of her life. “Born and bred on a church pew,” she told anybody who asked.
Angie, like Tina, was 27 years old, and, also like Tina, involved with a man she truly cared about. She often brought Ted to church with her, and didn’t try to hide the fact that they were living together, although Tina had a hard time believing Pastor Frank and Dottie would approve if they knew.
Angie actually talked about having a baby with Ted, even though she knew he didn’t want any more than the two children he had with his first wife. “He’d get over it,” Angie claimed. “I’d tell him it was an accident.”
When Tina asked about Ted’s spiritual life, Angie had laughed off the question. “He believes in God, of course. He just doesn’t wear his religion on his sleeve the way some people do. I don’t like that, either. I hate it when people talk religion all of the time. Can’t they ever be normal?”
She went on without waiting for an answer. “He’s a good person, Tina. He gives money to Children’s Hospital and the animal shelter, and…well, he’s a better man than most of those stuffy old church people.”
As Tina stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel turban around her wet hair, Angie’s remarks bounced around and echoed inside her head, sounding even more inane now than they had the first time she heard them.
“And why is she so concerned with my love life, anyway?” She asked the dog. “You aren’t much of a conversationalist, are you?” Schotzie cocked his head in a quizzical look.
Tina turned her attention back to thoughts of Jake. With a clear head now, not clouded by physical desires, she had to concede that he treated her with utmost respect. A strong man, muscular—especially his arms and chest—he always held her gently, as if she were a fragile treasure. She dabbed away tears with a corner of the towel. “You are a wonderful, sweet man, Jake. I think I might truly love you.”
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 2
Chapter 2—Early Friday Morning, Missouri
“Gotta quit that,” Jake told himself as watched the Wisconsin Odyssey diminish in his rearview mirror. He’d taken to counting minivans when he and Barb bought a Plymouth Voyager. But that was before the divorce, and now every minivan on the highway reminded him of how much he missed his kids. Time to move on, he thought, hoping his new truck would help fill the aching void in his heart.
He had ordered a dark blue rig, just to try to keep a low profile. If Joey had still been in his life, he would have opted for a candy apple red truck. With the back of his hand, he brushed a tear off his cheek as he remembered how Joey loved to sit in the back and call him on an old cordless phone, pretending it was a CB radio. “Bweaker, bweaker, Joey to Daddy, come in pwease.” Joey had a low, husky voice as a little kid.
If only he could hear his son call him Daddy again.
Once the truckers had picked up the scent of his arrest and trial, they grabbed their CBs and spewed the news all over the country. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel in fury. Abject despair under a justice system that, once rolling, no power on earth could stop, still bound him like steel straps around a truckload of cinder blocks.
The sour taste of having the blame dumped on him wouldn’t go away. As far as he was concerned, losing the kids was the worst of it, the worst thing that could happen to anybody. Maybe it would have turned out better if they had stayed on the ranch instead of moving back to Lincoln as she insisted. Maybe if they hadn’t been so young…
His looks didn’t help. People seemed to instinctively distrust men who looked like him—dark brown curly hair with copper glints, smooth skin. Too handsome for his own good, Ma used to say.
Ma should have warned him about girls like Barbara. He did remember Ma hadn’t approved of him and Barb going together since they were fifteen, but she never knew they got married right out of high school. She died of cancer in January, and Jake and Barb married in June the same year.
Barb had cured him of women, no maybe about it. If he couldn’t have his own kids with him, he’d manage fine without a woman. His truck was a whole lot more predictable. Less hassle, for sure.
Unless…uninvited, another picture floated into his mind—the girl his brother had introduced him to in Dallas, saying he needed to get out and meet new people. Tina, the redhead with liquid green eyes, who reminded him of an almost-tame doe, letting him approach slowly, but ready to skitter off if he made a sudden move.
He felt good just thinking about her. Something about her kept him going back. Well, he could think of worse ideas than a nice city girl to spend time with on his weekends in Dallas.
She had been humiliated as badly in her divorce as he had in his. He would gladly string up that Richard character she had been married to. What kind of an idiot would hurt someone as sweet as Tina?
Beautiful little Tina, red hair to her shoulders, all silky and shiny. If only she wouldn’t try to shove her religion at him.
Be fair, Jake chided himself. She didn’t exactly push it at him; she just explains why she’s so cheerful. “God gives me peace.” Downright remarkable, given her history, he had to admit. He winced as he remembered how she often said, “Jesus has given me a new life.”
He didn’t mind so much when she just talked about God in a generic sense. But the Jesus stuff made him itchy.
Probably why she wouldn’t sleep with him, too, although he knew she wanted to as much as he did.
Can you get in trouble with God for fantasizing about sleeping with a religious person, he wondered.
He could picture a good life with Tina. After all she had gone through she deserved a man who knew how to treat a woman. He hoped she would let him close enough to find out she was safe with him.
“Watch yourself, Jake,” he warned himself. If he wasn’t careful… He could feel himself beginning to care too much, and to his surprise it was a good feeling. He sat up straighter at the thought. A real good feeling!
He had told Tina all about Barb and her crazy accusations, and he had been sure neither he nor Tina was ready to risk loving again.
It might be too late to be careful, he thought with a start. He sure didn’t want to stop thinking about Tina and what it would be like if they were married. And to his surprise, it wasn’t all about what she could do for him. He smiled, picturing her face when he’d bring her a gift, or tell her a funny story, making her eyes crinkle up the way they did when she smiled. The touch of her hand on his face, the sound of her voice…He wanted to close his eyes and dream of her, to remember her scent…He didn’t want to consider life without her…
Despite the coffee, at 3 a. m. Jake found himself growing sleepy. The Clancy book had bogged itself down with technical stuff—hard to follow when he listened with only half his mind.
By the time he reached Rolla, Missouri, he decided he’d better ease off the road and take a nap. Several other truckers had pulled their rigs off at the Rolla truck stop, not uncommon in the pre-dawn hours.
“Are we stopping, Mister?”
Jake could feel the hair on the back of his neck crawl. He turned around to see a small blond boy standing behind him, steadying himself with one hand on the back of the passenger seat and the other holding his crotch while shifting nervously from foot to foot. Lighted digital indicators in the dashboard cast the child’s pale complexion a sickly green.
“I’m sorry, Mister, but I really gotta go. I can’t hold it any more.”
Easing his truck onto the shoulder of the off-ramp, Jake turned and pointed wordlessly to the porta-potty he kept on board for emergencies.
Austin stood over it, aimed unsteadily, and relieved himself.
Jake, wide-awake now, scrabbled around inside his brain trying to place this beautiful little boy in his truck in reality. Could he be having a nightmare, a flashback of some kind? But this kid’s hair is blond—almost white, he thought, while Joey’s hair is more like mine, dark with reddish streaks. Where had this child come from? When did he stop last? Bloomington? But that’s Illinois. This is Missouri. Across a state line.
“Oh God oh God oh God…” He realized he was talking out loud. The boy began backing away, staring at him wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry, Mister. I know I spilled some. I’ll clean it up for you, okay? Mama says I should sit down when I go but Daddy says that’s for sissies and he says…”
Jake heard the hiss of air brakes and the hollow rattle of an empty dry van trailer as an International exited and passed them heading straight toward the diesel pumps. A slight mist around the neon signs of the all-night café cast an eerie glow.
“Listen kid, I don’t know who you are and I don’t give a rip what your dad thinks one way or the other. What in blazes are you doing in my truck? How did you get here? Why me? Why this truck?”
Jake realized his voice had grown louder with each question, and the kid was returning his anger glare for glare. He tried to speak more quietly, but frustration roughened his tone.
“Kid, I want to know what your name is and what you are doing here. And I want to know it now!”
Austin appeared to listen attentively, then pulled back his shoulders and stood as tall as he could.
“I’m here because I got out of the van to go potty and then I saw your new Freightliner Coronado.”
Jake noticed that he recited the truck name with pride.
“My whole entire life I wanted to see inside of one for real, so I just climbed in—and I guess I fell asleep.” He squinted his eyes. “And I don’t like to be yelled at, neither.”
“All right, I’m not yelling, but you’d better tell me your name and where you belong, so we can get you back to your folks.” Jake wasn’t accustomed to being corrected by a kid. “So no more back talk out of you. Didn’t your mother tell you not to get into other people’s cars?”
“Ha!” Austin stuck out his chin. “I didn’t get in other people’s cars. This is a truck. Don’t you even know what you drive, Mister?”
“Very funny. Just give me your dad’s name.”
The kid looked sullen and refused to make eye contact. Now what?
“Listen, I’m a dad, too, so I know how worried your father must be. Let’s see…my little boy, Joey is six years old now and you’re lots bigger. How old are you?
Almost eight?” Jake didn’t think the boy was quite that old, but he knew boys like to think they look bigger and older than they really are.
Austin kept his chin in the air, and didn’t answer or look at him.
“Hey, I’ll tell you my name. I’m Jake. What do they call you?”
No answer.
“You’re gonna make me guess, aren’t you? Okay, let’s see: Oscar? Is your name Oscar? No. Willie Wonka? No. Uh…Leroy? That’s it. Leroy. Okay, LEEroy, where’d you come from?”
The kid finally looked at him. A trace of a grin.
“I’m six, you silly! Well, almost seven. And my name is NOT LEEroy. I’m not telling you my name.”
“Okay, six-year-old Not-LEEroy. So when did you get in my truck? Can you tell me that?”
“Last night. Before I went to sleep.”
“Do you know where you were? Were you near your house?”
“We were at the place with all the trucks, only the other ones were farther away from my daddy’s van.”
“But was that near your house?” This was like pulling teeth. He found himself clenching his.
“No.”
“That’s it, Not-Leroy? Just ‘no’ it wasn’t near your house? How do you know it wasn’t near your house?”
“Because we rode in the van all day already before we got to the place with all the trucks,” Austin explained patiently, as if it were obvious.
As they idled there on the shoulder of the off-ramp, three other tractor-trailer rigs passed Jake’s truck, but didn’t appear to slow down or check him out. While it was more usual for trucks to rest on the edge of an on-ramp, sleepy truckers might occasionally take a short break on the off-ramp. All the same, the longer he sat here, the greater the likelihood that someone might take note, and right now, staying out of anybody’s notice ranked as numero uno on Jake’s short list of objectives.
He had to give it another try, although extracting information from Not-Leroy was shaping up to be a job for a better sleuth than he considered himself to be.
“Well, Not-Leroy, did your mom and dad know you got in the truck with me?”
Pay dirt. The kid enjoyed a bit of deceit; he could tell it by the twinkle in his eyes, as he bragged, “No I am a biotechnicoid boy…”
“Hold on there, Not-Leroy, I never heard of a biotechnicoid anything! Don’t you be making things up on me!”
“Of course you never heard of it. I invented it, is why. I’m faster than Superman, more sneaky than Spiderman. I can swoop into a room before anybody knows it.”
Arms straight out as wings, Austin dived and swooped to the limits of the cab.
Jake had to smile; the child had the commanding presence of a half-grown chicken.
Austin sat down and faced Jake, apparently sure he had made his case. “You didn’t see me get in your truck, did you? See, I told you! And if I wanted to get out of the truck I could do it and you wouldn’t see me then, neither.
“You know what? You watch way too much TV. Your mother didn’t teach you any manners, either, did she? You’ve got a lot of nerve sassing me right after you scared me half to death by showing up!”
“There! You said you were scared. I’m not scared. Biotechnicoid boys do not get scared.” Austin had apparently forgotten his alarm in those first couple of minutes when he woke up and Jake talked so loud.
“I always wanted to ride in a truck like this and now I can,” he went on. “There’s plenty of room in here for me, and I can pour coffee for you and, and lotsa other stuff while you drive. We can be partners.” He crossed his arms, satisfied with himself.
Jake leaned back in his seat looking out of the windshield at the tired glare of the station’s lights, trying to think. He knew he should take the child to a police station.
Yeah, right, he thought, I’ll drive myself up to the next highway patrol car, and tell them this little blond boy just happened to show up in my truck, and anyway, that kidnapping deal two years ago was bogus. Yep, that’s what I’ll do. And Mr. Patrolman, friendly peace officer in blue or khaki or whatever they wear around here, will say “That’s all right, Jake, my man. You go on your way and God bless you.” Sure he will. Right. And then my fairy godmother will exchange this kid for my own boy and we’ll all ride into the sunset together. Happy ever after, amen.
Another truck rolled down the ramp. He couldn’t stay here. He had to find a safe place to try to figure out what to do.
Safe. But where?
A gentle memory tweaked the corner of his mind. Crazy idea.
Maybe not so crazy. He’d only met them once, but there was something about them…He didn’t trust too many people, but he knew they were solid; trustworthy.
He made up his mind.
“You go on back there and get back to sleep. We’ll talk later.”
“Easy,” he told himself, “easy does it.”
He coasted down the off-ramp and into the parking area of the truck stop. In a neatly parked row, about a dozen big rigs idled while their owners napped in the sleeper beds. Jake managed to position his truck between two others.
He reached for his cell phone and started keying in the number when he remembered what time it was. And how traceable cell phones were. Replacing the phone after clicking it to the “off” position, he ran his hand over his face and rubbed his palms on his jeans.
Ignoring the “No Drop Zone” sign, he kept the engine at a low idle speed, jumped out, unhitched his trailer—a flatbed loaded with pallets of five-gallon bulk paint cans covered with a tarp—and hopped back into the cab. Then still at a gentle, quiet speed that wouldn’t awaken other drivers, he glided away from them and headed back out to the highway.
At the next exit, he turned south into the Ozarks and disappeared.
RUN FOR THE HILLS – Chapter 1
Thursday Night, Central Illinois
“Grandpa, tell me ‘bout the good old days…when people really fell in love to stay…”
Jake reached over and shut off the radio. What did the Judds know about love anyway? He could tell them a thing or two. “Good old days?” Those were the days when he had lost his upbeat approach to life, when he’d run smack-dab into the yellowed teeth of betrayal. Recalling the good old days for him meant remembering he’d lost the two people he cared about most—Annie and Joey.
A few days after her seventh birthday Annie had asked him, “Daddy, can somebody really break your heart?” He told her that her heart was just one of the organs of her body like her liver or her spleen, and couldn’t actually hurt from sadness. He knew better now. She and Joey had been ripped away from him and all he had left was a cold, lead-weight pain deep in the core of his being, never ending, never letting him forget there was no way he could ever turn things around.
In a fleeting ghost of memory, Jake could hear his mother singing, “Count your many blessings…” and he smiled sadly in the dark. Sure, he owned this shiny new tractor-trailer rig, free and clear, and he enjoyed his work—he could stay on the go, always on the move, and that suited him fine, but he didn’t feel blessed, not by a long shot.
He would never forget the day he decided to buy a truck and take to the road. He’d been riding fences on his roan quarter horse when he mentioned to his ranch manager, Tom Andrews, that he’d been thinking of buying a team of giant horses—Percherons. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
He could still hear Tom yelling at him. “Are you nuts? Percherons? On this spread? If you want horsepower, get yourself a truck.” So, he bought his first tractor-trailer rig and found out Tom had been right: Jake loved the hum of the high performance engine, the constantly changing scenery as he drove all over the country, and most of all, the energy—the absolute blast—of a huge turbo-charged diesel, 500 horses under his command.
A couple of hours ahead of him lay one of his favorite stretches. Rolling hills and wild curves between St. Louis and Springfield, Missouri, challenged his skill, ensuring an adrenaline rush. Probably fairly quiet tonight. Now take that stretch on a hot summer afternoon—tourists mixing it up with loaded trucks—that could get a little dicey, but for a guy like Jake, who knew his stuff, it kicked like a giant video game at 75 miles an hour.
Jerking his thoughts back to the present, he slowed, eased down the off-ramp, and pulled into Traveler’s Haven, east of Bloomington, Illinois. He slotted his truck between a Peterbilt and a Kenworth at the diesel pumps. Sitting down and eating a full meal might make it harder to stay awake all night, and, besides, he didn’t think he could sit still that long. No, he decided he’d be better off just cleaning up, picking up some snacks, and getting set for the long haul ahead of him.
When he’d filled the tank, he moved his rig away from the pumps and the rest of the trucks and parked on the edge of the pavement near the area where passenger cars gassed up. He grabbed his shaving kit and a change of clothes before going inside.
A couple of truckers he had never seen before made back-handed compliments on his new truck while he browsed through the audio books for rent. He kept his eyes focused on the blurred words on the book boxes, avoiding eye contact with them. He knew most of the other truckers, if only by their rigs and CB handles. They considered him a loner, he guessed. He supposed they were right.
On his way to the pay station, he excused himself past a ditzy-looking blonde turning over made-in-Taiwan Elvis junk, evidently looking for the price.
Marge, in a voice big enough to warn ships at sea, kept up a steady banter with the men hanging around her register. She rang up his fuel and “misc.,” took his T-check, and bellowed, “Hey, Jake! That your new condo cab out there?” Without looking at him or missing a beat, she immediately turned her attention to the driver behind him.
Later nobody remembered seeing him leave.
~~~~~~~~~
How long can it take to go to the bathroom and pick up a Coke, David wondered. Here he sat, sick of waiting, the van engine running and using gas enough to have taken them fifty miles down the road, while Laura, who hadn’t even driven her fair share, trolled the aisles of a truck stop, looking for gifts. He scowled at the dashboard clock. Eleven o’clock at night and she’s shopping!
David planned his family’s vacations down to the last gallon of gas and McDonald’s meal. A computer engineer with Lowell Paper Company in Green Bay, he knew they called him a geek, but as long as they paid him well, he could live with the nickname.
What he found harder to get used to was that his wife shared none of his precision-loving qualities. The way her mind worked, she figured if she still had checks in the checkbook, they still had money in the bank. If some event started at 8:00 p.m., that’s when she would start getting ready. David liked to arrive early so he could size up the room.
He lost his train of thought as a big shiny semi rumbled to the edge of the pavement and stopped. Funny place to park, he thought. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Laura and her sense of time.
She said he drove her crazy and she accused him of being a control freak. He called her a blonde flake and told her she drove him nuts.
He really hadn’t been prepared for the complications of marriage to Laura. He expected that she would bear their children and civilize them, manage the household, and generally take care of their little kingdom until he came home from work. He didn’t think it was too much to hope she would greet him looking like the cute little cheerleader he had married. A real home-cooked meal served at a neatly set table should be part of the whole picture, too.
He could count on the fingers of one hand how often his ideal scenario appeared when he opened the door. Instead, he usually found Laura in sweat pants and a ratty T-shirt, and the kids jumping up and down begging to go to McDonald’s. Not his idea of a “happy meal.”
This could be a long night. He sighed and rested his head back on the high seat back. If he’d known she needed this much time he could have power-napped ten minutes and awakened refreshed—the way he sometimes did after the pastor dismissed the kids for children’s church.
David and Laura did attend church services occasionally, but three little children made it almost impossible. Laura never could seem to have herself and the kids ready on time. Not that he minded missing the opening exercises—all the standing and singing in the beginning—but it embarrassed him to drag in late.
Talk about late, what time was it now? 11:20! That’s it! He decided he’d go in and get her even if he had to drag her out by her hair. He glanced in the back at the kids, unmoving, limbs spread every which way, like alligators on a Florida canal bank. He slipped out of the van, careful not to slam the door. This wouldn’t take long.
~~~~~~
Austin had only been pretending to sleep. He was a biotechnicoid boy, he always told everybody. He ran on plutonium batteries and didn’t need sleep. He waited, counting, one, two, three, four…and sat up. No sign of Daddy.
Hey! This must be the biggest truck stop in the whole world! At least a zillion trucks. And lights! He bet they didn’t need this many lights even when they made movies and had to clap a blackboard thing and say “Action!” He grabbed his sunglasses. He might need them for a disguise.
Austin, moving his stealthiest—faster than Spiderman—slipped out from under the quilt without waking his little sisters. Soft regular purring assured him of Allison’s undisturbed sleep. Ariel nickered a little, the way she did when she had been crying hard. Austin found her pacifier and stuck it in her mouth, wiping his hand on his pants to get rid of her drool. “Yuck! Slimy baby drool,” he started to say aloud, but checked himself. Allison didn’t stir. Ariel sucked lazily on her pacifier and sighed back to sleep, saliva dribbling into the folds under her tiny chin.
He couldn’t believe his good luck! Daddy never ever before walked away from the van until Mama got back in.
When Austin stayed with his Grandma and Grandpa Page out on the farm, Grandpa sometimes went to the bathroom out in the field and told Austin it was all right for men to do that. Mama said it was gross, but he had to do it right now. Over there on that grassy place would be good.
No time for shoes. He could move faster in bare feet anyway. Quick as a cat, whisper quiet. Diving into deep shadows behind a truck, he couldn’t suppress a giggle.
As he stood there shivering, preparing to relieve himself on a flattened cigarette wrapper, he knew this would be the best joke ever! He could imagine Mama and Daddy coming back to the van and finding him gone. Mama would get all excited and cry and Daddy would act mad while really thinking his boy was the coolest.
Austin stopped stock-still and dropped his jaw in wonderment at the giant truck he had run behind.
All the way from Green Bay he had gawked at the great trucks as they rolled along the highways, passing the trucks when Mama drove, being passed when Daddy was at the wheel.
He learned their names: Kenworth, Peterbilt, International, Volvo, Mack. Drivers almost always returned his happy waves. Sometimes, when a truck came really close to the back of their car, Austin made an up and down sign with his fists, kinda like milking a cow, and the driver would blow his big air horn. Daddy used his biggest and best swears then, and Mama always said, “Little pitchers have big ears, David.”
A shiny new Freightliner Cascadia!
~~~~~
Satisfied with the smooth rumble of the idling 18-wheeler, Jake jumped down for one last walk-around before pulling out for a long night run. For only two minutes, maybe three at the most, while he tapped the tires with his hammer, the open driver’s side door was out of his line of vision.
~~~~~
Heart hammering in his chest, imagining himself moving with supernatural speed, like Superman, Austin Page, fearless six-year-old, crawled up into the cab through the driver’s door, and hid himself in a far back corner of the sleeper bed, pulling a plaid wool blanket over his head. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
Austin closed his eyes, pretending this was his daddy’s truck as his nose picked up familiar scents of the after shave Daddy used, coffee, and maybe chocolate. Hugging himself with delight, he felt happy and safe, glorying in the wondrous smell of new truck. Not quite seven years old, he couldn’t think past the moment, and for this moment, he thought he’d reached heaven.
By pestering his little sisters, asking questions he knew the answers to, insisting Daddy read all the truck names to him, he had managed to stay awake until now, but in the warm darkness, the gentle vibration of the great truck did him in. For a fleeting second he wondered if he might be dreaming, and then, before he could plot his next move, he was.
~~~~~~
Jake rounded the trailer and as he moved to step back up into the cab, he pulled out his handkerchief to rub out little smudges he hadn’t noticed before. When he stood back to admire the perfect shine he’d accomplished, he noted that it reflected the distorted images of an obviously frustrated man and a woman arguing while getting into their van and driving away.
~~~~~~
“It’s about time. Get in the car. Now!” David exploded as Laura emerged from the gift shop. “What took so long?”
“Excuse me? Don’t you dare use that tone of voice with me,” Laura demanded, her blue eyes spitting angry sparks. “I’ll have you know I found exactly the right thing for your mom’s birthday. You know how she loves Elvis stuff…”
“At a truck stop at midnight? We’re headed for Dallas and you had to shop in the middle of Illinois? And where is this perfect gift? Did you go and walk off without the package after all that time?”
“I had it shipped back to Green Bay. It’s fragile and I didn’t want to have it in the car with us the whole time we’re in Dallas.”
Without another word Laura got in the van, laid the seat back and closed her eyes.
Back on the highway, David set the cruise control and resumed seething while Laura slept or, David suspected, faked deep slumber, which made him so mad he felt as if he had a caffeine buzz.
He hated that his vacations had to revolve around her parents. Just once he wished they could do something normal, like camping at Yellowstone, or even spending a week at a lake cottage.
He liked Will and Gloria well enough, (Will, anyway), and they had a spacious house, so staying with them wasn’t the hassle it might have been, but driving to Dallas chewed up two days each way. His company only gave him three weeks of paid vacation a year. This time they had planned to take turns at the wheel and drive straight through rather than stopping at a motel.
His in-laws were an odd pair, he thought. Will was a laid-back kind of guy even before he retired from Texas Mutual and Fidelity where he had headed up the Information Technology division. We computer geeks are mellow, David thought, grinning to himself. Laura said her dad had always been ‘the stabilizing force’ for the whole family.
Gloria, now, was not mellow. Opinionated and not a bit shy about sharing her opinions, like when she told the preacher he needed a haircut before performing David and Laura’s wedding ceremony. A “formidable woman,” his dad had observed when he first met her.
Laura let the kids run wild—no discipline at all—and David didn’t know whether she loved them too much to get after them when they needed it, or if it was because she leaned a bit toward the lazy side. His mother once said Laura seemed to have an unnatural fear of getting tired.
There had been an uneasy moment or two during their last visit when Will said David ought to be more involved in the care of the children. Will even said he thought Austin acted like a brat, and that set Laura to crying and David to defending her, though he couldn’t deny it. Everybody was mad at everybody else for a while there, but Gloria stepped in and sent them all—even him and Will—to their rooms to pray, and 30 minutes later no one wanted to talk about it anymore.
He glanced over at his sleeping wife, beautiful as always, but quiet for a nice change. Enjoy the moment, he told himself, picturing her twenty years in the future, as bossy as her mother. He’d better pay attention to his driving, too. His whole world—Laura, his wife with whom he was still totally smitten, bossy or otherwise, the three kids sleeping in back—depended on him to take them safely through this dark night.
~~~~~
Tires all okay. Indicators competent and ready. Jake ran a hand through his short brown hair, still damp from a shower—free with a full tank of diesel—before jamming on his cap. He slid his Ropers onto the pedals and pulled the door closed. Buckling his seat belt, he checked the time. 11:30.
He had hoped to load and leave Chicago earlier, but this next stretch promised to be a steady 65-70 miles per hour. Word was, the weigh stations would stay closed and he wouldn’t be delayed there. Barring a big construction slow-down or a breakdown—the latter unlikely with a new truck—he should still be able to get all the way to Tulsa before pulling it off for a mandatory eight hours down.
Too much driving all in one stretch, but it couldn’t be helped. He took a couple of deep breaths.
Strong black coffee in the thermos—check. Tom Clancy technothriller on audiotape—check. Pound of Peanut M&Ms—check. CB tuned to channel 19—check. Lonedaddy is ready to roll.
Jake skillfully piloted the big rig and folded it smoothly into the night traffic on Interstate 55, southwest toward St. Louis. He inserted the first Clancy tape, sipped his first cup of coffee, and passed his first minivan on this leg of the trip: a 2005 model white Honda Odyssey with Wisconsin tags.
